Posted by: Artsy Squibbles | September 11, 2006

9/11

I will not watch the memorials. I will not listen to the tolling of life. I will not listen to the rolling names lost, or try to remember how, when or what happened. That it did happen was enough, and too much.

What I will do is go down to my basement and turn on the music. I will pull out my composition books, sheets of unfinished poems, sift through a few finished, and spend this time being grateful that I am alive.

I have artwork waiting for me. I have despondent, angry family members that are feeling neglected, and I have this belief that what I am doing is the right thing. No one else seems to think so.

I was going to go out tonight, get away, listen to some Blue Grass Music at a local tavern. Instead the basement calls, come dwell in the depths of creativity for a while…away from the light of day. Come down to the darkness where spiders crawl and crickets wait in corners. Come down to the darkness where the smell of damp and ancient memories fill your nostrils.

Come down to the basement and look inside your soul for awhile.

Come on down to the basement, filled with boxes and photos, and unsent Christmas gifts covered with dust. Come on down to the basement where fabric and paint were intentionally sealed together in a fit of rage. Come on down to the basement where an entire bucket was shed like blood stains on carpet. Come on down to the basement where dried and broken pieces of clay sit in a coffee can after being smashed against a wall. Come on down to the basement for a look at the remnants of our history. Look at the piles of laundry flowing from open garbage bags. Items no longer worn, the lost socks, partners missing. Look at the folded clothing of the one now gone. Items that will never be worn again…tidy little stacks of shirts and shorts. Come on down to the basement where mold grows in one corner from the leaky foundation. Come on down to the basement where a broken sewing machine sits on the floor making a blatant statement about what it can no longer do.

Come on down to the basement and turn on the music falling into the sound you love as you clean and sort the mess that has been made in your life. Come on down to the basement.

And when you’ve had enough of your pain, your anger, your frustration, your memories and losses, the stairs are there, and you can come back up for a breath of fresh air. 

And when you come back up remember the others that cannot come up from where they are.

The ones that are alive and stuck in emotional limbo.

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